


the firestarters

by zeitgeistofnow



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, I love them so much, M/M, Meet-Cute, kinda??, oh also suki/original nb character but it is very background, sokka and suki are roommates also and BEST FRIENDS, zuko's in a band and sokka works at the jasmine dragon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-17
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:55:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25324270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeitgeistofnow/pseuds/zeitgeistofnow
Summary: “you know how we figured iroh's nephew was either seven years old or a thirty year old outlaw?” uncle iroh’s stories about his nephew ranged fromthe kid almost burnt down my kitchen trying to make grilled cheesetomy niece and nephew were arrested for arson last night and i had to bail them out at 2 in the morning. sokka and suki had drawn their own conclusions.“yes.”“well, turns out he’s neither. he came to the shop today and uncle iroh made a huge deal about it so i know it was him. and he’s like… really hot, suki.”
Relationships: Sokka & Suki (Avatar), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 1277





	the firestarters

**Author's Note:**

> cw for mentions of arson? not in an angsty way but just putting it out there

“Suki,” Sokka proclaims, draping his coat over a kitchen chair and throwing his scarf onto the couch, “you will not  _ believe  _ the day I just had.”

Suki peels open her Yoplait and raises a single eyebrow. Some dim-lit drama is playing on her phone and she doesn’t bother pausing it. “Did you finally fall down the stairs at the Jasmine Dragon? I told you you have to look where you’re going or you’re  _ going  _ to spill tea down your neck and get some gigantic burn scar. And your neck is like, your best asset so where would you be.”

Sokka unconsciously reaches a hand up to caress his throat. “Aw, Suki, that’s so sweet.” Suki shrugs and starts to eat her yogurt. Sokka sighs. “Get a spoon, dude. You know I hate watching you lick at yogurt. It’s weird.”

“Whatever.” Suki puts the plastic cup on the counter and starts to rummage through their silverware-and-Sokka's-reusable-straw-horde drawer. Sokka loves being eco friendly and also having cool straws. Suki loves having organized kitchen drawers. Such is their daily strife. “So what happened?”

Sokku perches on the edge of their kitchen island and starts to take out his dangly earrings. “You know Uncle Iroh? Like, my boss-slash-old-friend?” Suki shoots him an irritated look and Sokka continues hurriedly. “And you know how he has a nephew that he talks about  _ all  _ the time?”

“Oh my god, Sokka, he’s called  _ Uncle  _ Iroh for a reason. Tell me what happened or  _ I  _ will tell you exactly what happened with the person I went home with last night.” It’s hardly a threat. Part of the reason Sokka and Suki are so close- beyond, you know,  _ living together-  _ is that they’re the only ones who will listen to each other’s sexcapades.

“You know how we figured Zuko was either seven years old or a thirty year old outlaw?” Uncle Iroh’s stories about his nephew ranged from  _ the kid almost burnt down my kitchen trying to make grilled cheese  _ to  _ my niece and nephew were arrested for arson last night and I had to bail them out at 2 in the morning.  _ Sokka and Suki had drawn their own conclusions. 

“Yes.”

“Well turns out he’s  _ neither.  _ He came to the shop today and Uncle Iroh made a huge deal about it so I know it was him. And he’s like… really hot, Suki.”

“In a thirty year old outlaw way?”

“In a twenty-two year old with a punk band kinda way.” Sokka gestures vaguely at his face. “He’s got this  _ burn scar  _ over half his face and it really shouldn’t be hot but it totally is and he had an ACAB patch on the back of his leather jacket and-”

“A rainbow pin on his lapel?” Suki finishes, and Sokka beams. They’re really on the same wavelength sometimes. 

“Yes! And he’s not even a brat! He’s super nice to Uncle Iroh-”

“I would kill him if he wasn’t,” Suki says, a determined set to her jaw.

“...Obviously, so would I. These boomerangs aren’t just for dog parks,” Sokka leans back forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. He kicks his dangling feet against the counters. “But like, he is so we don’t have to worry about disposing of the body. Besides, Uncle Iroh would be probably bummed if we killed his favorite nephew.”

“Probably,” Suki agrees, her face relaxing back into her usual “too chill for you” expression. “Cool you met him.”

“Suki,” Sokka says again, “he’s  _ so  _ hot.”

“Oh my god.”

“And so sweet, and he smiled at me when I took his order and it was like the clouds breaking apart to let the sun warm the earth. I felt  _ blessed,  _ Suki.  _ Blessed. _ ”

“Sokka, I fucking hate you.”

“But you’ll help me convince Uncle Iroh to set me up with him?”

“ _ I  _ have to finish this episode,” Suki says, and Sokka bats his eyes at her piteously. “But maybe,” she relents, “if you’ll pay for my coffee.” Sokka  _ cannot  _ afford two coffees at the Jasmine Dragon but he’s decided nothing is going to stand between him and figuring out who this man is.

“It’s a deal, babe.” He slowly scoots along the island until he’s next to Suki. “What are we watching? You know, we could watch it somewhere that’s not the kitchen. Just a suggestion. Like, I have a gazillion blankets on my bed. It’s pretty cozy.” He frowns and Suki half-scowls, half-laughs at him. “That kinda sounded like a proposition. I meant it in a platonic way. This counter is just… not as comfy for my butt.”

“Uncle Iroh!” Sokka greets, swanning into the Jasmine Dragon half an hour before they open. Suki trails a few feet behind him, chewing on the straw of her iced coffee. Sokka had persuaded her to get something from Caribou instead of the Jasmine Dragon to save his wallet. It’s not going to win him any points with Uncle Iroh, but he needs to pay his share of the rent. Iroh understands.

“Sokka!” Iroh says, equally jolly. He’s sitting at one of the cafe’s couches and sipping tea from the good china he doesn’t use for customers. “How have you been since yesterday?”

“Swell,” Suki says before Sokka can go on a tirade about Aang and Katara breaking into their apartment to steal his cereal. She leans her back against the counter. “I heard your nephew came into the shop yesterday?”

“Oh, yes,” Uncle Iroh nods. “He was inviting me to his show tonight,” his eyebrows furrow, “but Suki, I must warn you, my Zuko is as queer as a three dollar bill. I would hardly-”

Suki laughs in the happy way everyone laughs around Uncle Iroh. “No, not me. I’m dating someone.” Sokka ties his apron around his waist and reties his hair, listening into the conversation.

“Again?” Uncle Iroh’s mild concern melts into joking interest. “What’s their name? I can hardly keep up with you two.”

“Whatever, old man.” Suki rolls her eyes and sips her coffee. “It’s Kelp.”

Sokka blinks. And Suki had totally made fun of him last week for meeting up with some dude on Grindr named Fox. “Their name is  _ Kelp?” _ he asks, melting into an armchair. Uncle Iroh will ask him to start brewing tea in a few minutes, but their morning gossip sessions are a tradition and Iroh  _ loves  _ traditions. 

“Fuck  _ off,  _ Sokka.” Suki flips him off and Uncle Iroh tuts.

“Language, children. And that’s no way to speak to your elders, Suki. I’m hardly an  _ old man.  _ I’m at my peak right now.” Iroh glances up at the clock. “Well, you’ll have to catch me later in the day to tell me more about this Kelp. My nephew hasn’t gone out with anyone in years. It’s a mercy I have you two to entertain me. Sokka, you ought to start getting ready for the work day-”

“Wait,” Sokka says, latching onto the mention of Zuko. “I was wondering… You said your nephew had a show tonight?”

“Oh, yes.” Uncle Iroh sighs. “He’s in a band with his ex-girlfriend and ex-boyfriend. I don’t go because their music gives me a headache, but he always comes and plays some acoustic songs for me afterwards. He tells me when they have shows so that I know to stay up later than usual.”

“What kinda of music is it?”

“Loud,” Uncle Iroh says, “now get to that kettle! We don’t want to have to give our customers cold tea.” Sokka wants to ask more about the show like ‘where is it’ and ‘what time’ and ‘wait his ex- _ girlfriend _ ? I thought you said he was gay,’ but the clock is ticking closer to opening time and Iroh is right and he knows it. Sokka sighs resignedly and Uncle Iroh takes another slow sip of his tea

Suki locks eyes with Sokka and makes a shooing gesture at the counter. “Go! You’re the one working here.” 

Uncle Iroh looks up from his cup of tea with a twinkle in his eye. “If you’re productive today I’ll give you the details of the show, Sokka. My nephew needs more friends his own age.”

Sokka walks out of the Jasmine Dragon with a crumpled flier for  _ The Firestarters  _ show that night stuffed in his pocket and walks into a weird hole-in-the-wall bar a few hours later, the same flier in his hand. It matches the ones in the window. Suki trails a few feet behind him, looking put upon.

“Whatever,” Sokka tells her as she orders their drinks, “you want to meet this guy just as much as I do.”

“You’re either vastly overestimating how much I want to meet him or you haven’t noticed how excited you are,” Suki says. The dim lights in the bar cast her face in dark shadows. He’s convinced her to dress up a little because even though this was transparently an effort on his part to (seduce?) meet Zuko, they’re still having a night out. She’d exchanged her shirt for a jean jacket and had stolen a pair of Sokka’s favorite hoops. Sharing earrings was probably unhygienic, but neither of them care.

“What _ ever, _ ” Sokka drawls, and Suki hands him a drink. The lights over the bar’s carpeted stage flicker between blue and gold light before settling on a warm red. The band members have been on stage for a few minutes, fiddling with instruments and the microphone. Zuko’s the left corner of the triangle they’re standing in with a bass guitar. Sokka sips at his glass and stares. 

“He’s a bassist,” Suki mutters, “of course,” but a smile is playing at the corner of her mouth. The other two on stage with him are a guy with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth and a woman behind the keyboard. They both look varying degrees of terrifying. 

The show starts and they play through their set with minimal comments from the scary smoking dude. It’s punk music, loud with crashing guitar sounds. Zuko bites his lips throughout the whole performance, careful and focused on his part. It’s a noticeable distinction from the lead singer, who looks like he doesn’t have a care in the world. They finish with a wink from the lead singer, a nod from their keyboardist, and an aborted half-bow from Zuko. The lead gleefully punches him in the arm as they leave the stage and Suki raises her eyebrows at Sokka.

“This is your chance, lover boy.”

Sokka feels his stomach jump up his throat and he stares at his drink. “Maybe… maybe I should wait until he comes into the shop next. It’ll be a less hostile environment and Uncle Iroh would step in if I get too awkward.” Even just the thought of the old man warms Sokka’s heart. He knows Iroh would be on his side. 

Suki shoots him a skeptical look. “Uh-hu. He hasn’t come into the shop in the  _ months _ you’ve worked there _ ,  _ who’s to say he’s going to pop in again soon?”

“I-” Sokka casts a distressed glance at Zuko, who’s slipping out the side door of the building. His long coat billows out behind him as soon as he crosses the threshold, wind catching him and tossing his hair. “Yeah, yeah. I’m going to regret it if I don’t go.”

“You might regret it either way,” Suki snarks to her drink, but she waves him toward the door. “Go!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m going,” Sokka says, standing up and pushing his barstool back under the counter. 

It’s dramatically cooler outside, with the wind and without the body heat of everyone within the bar. The alleyway is lit only by the residual neon lights bleeding back from the street and by Zuko’s phone. He looks startlingly pale in the blue light- Sokka knew he wasn’t exactly tan from seeing him at the Jasmine Dragon, but he looks vampiric. Which Sokka can get behind, actually. 

“Nice show,” Sokka says, and Zuko looks up from his phone and shrugs.

“Not really. Fucking Jet keeps playing over my solos.” He snarls a bit throughout the sentence and it’s a nice effect, making him look more like the outlaw Sokka and Suki thought he was.

“He was the lead?”

“Yeah.” Zuko rolls his eyes. “I can’t  _ believe-” _

“You guys really used to date, huh.”

Zuko looks startled. “How did you-” he cuts himself off and Sokka figures it’s his turn to talk.

“I work for your uncle!”

“Yeah, you took my order yesterday. Sokka, right?” Zuko remembers. His expression seems to warm at the thought of his uncle’s shop. “That doesn’t explain why you know my exes.”

“Your uncle talks about you a lot,” Sokka says. “He really cares about you and really likes telling his employee and his employee’s best friend about your life.”

Zuko curses fondly. “Idiot old man. He has no notion of privacy.”

“In his defence, I had to bribe him with the promise of more Pai Sho games to give me the details of your show tonight,” Sokka says, and then wishes he had never been allowed to have a mouth. Zuko blinks at him. The thin line of his mouth curves into a smile.

“My tea order that intriguing, then?”

“More like your eyes,” Sokka says, trying desperately to shake the dreamy tinge that comes with the words. “And the multiple stories of arson.”

Zuko barks a laugh. “Those are… likely more complicated than my uncle explained them as. More revenge than pyromania. I hope he hasn’t given you a negative opinion of me.”

“Not at all,” Sokka says, “I think revenge arson is  _ very  _ sexy.”

Zuko’s face flushes warmly. “I- interesting. I can’t say I feel the same way. It is cathartic, though.”

“Suburban house go fwoosh,” Sokka agrees, throwing his hands up into the air. Zuko laughs. 

“Exactly.” Zuko clicks his phone back on and glances at the screen, then tucks it into his pocket. “I promised my uncle I would be at his apartment in ten minutes for his mini-concert, so I should go now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Sokka stands still, then points awkwardly at the door. “So, you’re leaving. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Zuko says. He doesn’t make any move to go. “Would you- would you like to come with me? My uncle says you have a nice singing voice…”

“Wha- I’ve never sung for your uncle before!” Sokka protests.

“You sing while you wash dishes,” Zuko says smugly, “my uncle being a gossip goes both ways. Do you want to come?”

“Yeah. Yeah! I came to the bar with Suki, though, so I’ll have to let her know I’m not coming home with her.” Sokka points to the door again and Zuko nods. 

“I’ll just wait out front for you. My motorcycle is a block down.”

His  _ motorcycle.  _ The image of Zuko in a black biker’s jacket and spiked boots flashes through Sokka’s mind and he swallows roughly. “Your- yeah, that’s cool. I’ll be right out.” Sokka swings through the side door and weaves through the crowd, stepping lightly over chunks of gum on the floor. “Suki!” he exclaims when the other girl comes within exclamation distance, “I’m gonna- who’s this?”

Suki smiles widely and Sokka scours his mind for any new friends she has that he wouldn’t have met. Maybe she just met them- oh! “Oh, you’re Kelp?”

The person leaning against the counter nods. They have really broad shoulders, Sokka notices. He probably wouldn’t be able to take them in a fight. Not that he would ever have to. Suki can hold her own and most of her breakups are clean. “Nice to meet you. Sokka, right?”

“Yeah, like for your feet,” Sokka says. It used to be a joke. Now it’s just routine. “Anyway, came over to tell you I’m stopping by Uncle Iroh’s tonight.”

“Did talking to the nephew really go that bad? If you want someone to lick your wounds, maybe try Yue. Or even your sister.”

Sokka makes a face and Kelp chuckles. “My  _ sister.  _ Yeah, right. She’s got enough relationship drama to worry about without my fuckups.” He blinks. “Oh, but I didn’t fuck up. I’m going to Iroh’s  _ with  _ Zuko.”

“Oh,” Suki says. “That’s great.” Kelp smiles encouragingly.

“Yeah! He has a  _ motorcycle. _ ” Sokka goes starry-eyed and Suki laughs.

“So do a lot of people,” she says. “My mom has a motorcycle.”

“So did my dad,” Sokka concedes. “But I get to ride Zuko’s.”

Suki wiggles her eyebrows at the statement and Sokka decides that the conversation can be over. “Anyway, just telling you so you won’t wait up for me,” he says, already turning around. “Love you! Bye,” he throws over his shoulder. 

“Love you too,” Suki sing-songs at his back and Sokka bursts through the bar’s front door. He’s struck again by how much cooler it is without the body heat of however many people were inside the bar. The street is lit by neon signs sticking out of every storefront, advertising that glows like stars. If Sokka looks up, which he doesn’t, he can see the moon smiling down at him.

Zuko’s waiting on his motorcycle, holding a helmet and his bass guitar case in his hands. He looks up from his phone when Sokka approaches and points at a second helmet behind him. “Wear the helmet,” he says, “Uncle wouldn’t forgive me if I killed his favorite employee in a motorcycle accident.”

“Aw, I’m his favorite?”

“Only,” Zuko amends, watching with sharp gold eyes as Sokka settles the helmet onto his head. It’s a bit uncomfortable with his ponytail and Sokka notices too late that Zuko let his hair down before putting on the helmet. “But still. Who would wash the teacups without you?”

“Come on,” Sokka says, “I do a bunch of other stuff.”

“Sure. Also, I hate to ask something of you but would you wear my bass? If you’re riding behind me I can’t just wear it over my shoulder.”

“No problemo.” Sokka accepts the black case and holds it for a moment before slinging it over one shoulder. It’s coated in vinyl stickers but the street is too dark for Sokka to see what any of them are.

“Thanks.” Zuko gestures to the back of the bike and Sokka awkwardly clambours on behind him. “Hold onto me,” Zuko says, “and don’t move too much while we’re moving. Motorcycles are like big bikes. You still need to stay balanced.”

Sokka gingerly wraps his arms around the other boy and feels his shoulders tense, then relax. He’s  _ warm,  _ like the hot water bottles Toph used to keep around for her periods, and Sokka barely notices the breeze dusting over the pair. “Okay,” he says, shooting Zuko a thumbs up in the rearview mirror. 

It’s too loud to talk on the ride to the Jasmine Dragon, but Zuko obeys all the traffic laws Sokka knows and parks his motorcycle in the garage along the alley. He holds the motorcycle upright as Sokka tumbles off and flashes the other boy a smile. “Thanks for being chill. You’re the best passenger I’ve had.”

“Oof,” Sokka says, “my legs are jelly. Who else do you ferry around?”

“Mostly my sister,” Zuko says with a shrug. He tosses his helmet onto a table and Sokka places his next to it. “She doesn’t have her license because you can usually just take the subways around the city, but I’d drive her when we used to go out to our parents’ house.”

“Used to?”

“Yeah,” Zuko says, fiddling with a ring of keys and opening the Jasmine Dragon’s back door, “used to. But, you know, suburban house go  _ fwoosh _ ,” he says, throwing up his hands in an imitation of Sokka. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

The Jasmine Dragon’s kitchens are a little eerie this late at night, the neon lights of the street casting everything in dark shadows and fuzzy purples, reds, and blues. Zuko doesn’t seem bothered at all. He makes a beeline for the stairs up to Uncle Iroh’s apartment and Sokka follows him, shrugging the guitar case off his shoulders. 

“Uncle!” Zuko hollers, shuffling through his key ring again to open the apartment door, “I’m home!”

“Oh!” Uncle Iroh says cheerfully. His voice is muffled through the door but Sokka can already imagine him on the other side, probably finishing a late dinner and brewing tea. He’s never been in Iroh’s apartment, though, so his brain places him in Sokka and Suki’s apartment. He looks out of place among the IKEA furniture in Sokka’s mind. “Come in, nephew. I’ve been waiting up for you.”

“It’s only ten, old man,” Zuko says, wrestling the door unlocked and opening it. It swings silently on its hinges. “Don’t tell me you were planning on going to bed earlier.”

Uncle Iroh’s apartment is exactly what Sokka thought it would be- a warm room with lots of old furniture and blankets. Almost every surface is either unpainted wood or looks like it would be comfortable to sit on. A few pictures of Iroh with Zuko and a woman Sokka doesn’t know hang by the door.

“You get tired when you get old,” Iroh says. “Running a whole tea shop takes a lot out of me these days.”

“I’d help out if you ever needed anything,” Zuko says. He tosses his coat over a chair next to the door and Sokka stands awkwardly in the door frame. “I wish you’d let me do your accounting.”

“You hardly need more work to do,” Iroh tuts. He’s sitting on his couch, a beat up old sofa with red-orange cushions and blankets hanging over the back. A bowl of steaming noodles sits in his lap and he smiles down at it as he talks to his nephew. “I wish you and your sister would worry about me less.”

“You’re the only family that matters,” Zuko says, “and we can’t worry about each other or we’d have breakdowns nightly.” He glances back at Sokka and flushes. “Oh, uncle, Sokka’s here too.”

“I’m hardly surprised,” Iroh says, finally looking up at the pair. Sokka waves at him and his eyes twinkle with a smile. “I assumed you would bring him back for your second performance.”

“He said he would sing for us,” Zuko says cheerfully. He strides across the room to pick up an acoustic guitar from Uncle Iroh’s clutter collection and sits directly in the middle of the coffee table.

Sokka blinks. “Did I say that? I don’t think I can sing.”

“Nonsense!” Iroh says. “Your singing is lovely, Sokka. Certainly compared to mine. Or Suki’s.” He chuckles and takes a slurping bite of noodles. Sokka rolls his eyes. He  _ should  _ stand up for Suki, especially with Zuko a few feet away, but Iroh is right and they both know it.

“I won’t know any of the words,” he tries and Zuko screws up his face in thought. He looks adorable like that, criss-cross-applesauce in the middle of a few days worth of newspapers and teacups. 

“Well, what do you listen to?”

“Usually whatever Suki puts on,” Sokka says. “I know most of the words to those songs though. I dunno, I just pick up lyrics fast.” There was one day he’d swanned through the Jasmine Dragon’s kitchen absently singing some traditional Japanese song Iroh had put on and Zuko’s uncle had accosted him, asking how he knew the lyrics.

“Hm.” Zuko starts to absently strum at the instrument, then starts to sing to himself.  _ “In the dark of our graves, our bodies will decay,” _

_ “I wish you’d never change,”  _ Sokka finishes. Zuko shoots him a tiny smile.  _ “How lucky I ever was to see the way that you smile at me,”  _ Sokka continues, Zuko’s raspy singing voice fading into a hum,  _ “your little moon face shining bright at me. One day soon, there’ll be nothing left of you and me…” _

_ “Two coffins for sleep,”  _ Zuko sings quietly. His voice is deep and soft when he sings, and Sokka thinks bitterly that he should be the lead of  _ The Firestarters _ .

“Bravo,” Iroh says when Zuko stops plucking at his guitar, “you two make a wonderful pair. If you keep playing like this, nephew, I’ll have to bribe you into playing at the Jasmine Dragon!”

“For the last time, uncle,” Zuko says, looking exasperated and fond all at the same time, “it’s not ‘bribery’, it’s ‘paying for a service’.”

Iroh tuts. “I’m not paying for this, now am I?”

“You should be.” Zuko stands and stretches, flashing an awkward smile at Sokka. “Are you hungry? I don’t know what my uncle has in the fridge, but it’s probably weird. I have some ramen stashed in his cupboards.”

“Not anymore, Zuko,” Iroh says around a bite of bean sprouts, “you sister discovered it last time she was over and ate all three packets.”

Zuko cusses and throws open the refrigerator. “I  _ told  _ her not to.”

“She’s a growing girl, Zuko. I don’t think she gets enough to eat with Mai and Ty Lee.”

“Ty Lee cooks better than me  _ or  _ Jet. Azula hasn’t grown an inch since I was a freshman in high school!” Zuko shakes his head and casts a bashful look Sokka’s way. “Uh, sorry. No ramen. We do have some leftover lemon tarts from the cafe, though.” Zuko offers Sokka one and Sokka stuffs it into his mouth. 

“Thesh-” he takes a moment, then swallows. “These are the  _ best.  _ I swear, half my salary goes toward eating these on my shifts.”

“I made those a few days ago,” Zuko says, blushing. “They’re not that good.” 

Sokka widens his eyes and swallows another bite. “No shit! They’re literally the best things I’ve ever eaten.”

“Uh, thank you,” Zuko says, ducking his head. “Otherwise, we have pickled bok choy, too, and some duck eggs. And, uh, some plain tortillas. Uncle, when was the last time-”

“I’m going tomorrow,” Iroh says grumpily. “I told you not to worry about me.”

“I’ll pass,” Sokka says. “But if you have more tarts?”

Zuko laughs brightly and hands Sokka the tupperware. There are still three of the bite sized pastries inside and Sokka holds it like it’s the holy grail. “If you want to see me again, I’ll make you some more.”

Sounds like a win-win to Sokka, but he knows just enough about flirting to know that basically dedicating your love to someone’s lemon tarts the first day you’ve talked to them is a bit much. “Bruh,” he says instead, “fuck yeah!”

“Language!” Iroh says from the couch. “When will you boys come entertain me? I am simply a sad old man with no music in my life. I thought I was getting a concert, not listening to you two flirt in my kitchen.”

“You’re  _ not  _ sad,” Sokka declares, bringing his tarts back to the living room. “You’re a delightful old man.”

“Agreed,” Zuko says, reassuming his place on the coffee table. “What song next?”

Iroh says something in Japanese that Sokka assumes is a song name. Zuko nods and starts to arrange his fingers on the frets. Sokka folds himself onto the floor in front of Zuko. He takes a bite of another tart and Zuko starts to sing. Sokka hadn’t paid much attention to Zuko’s voice before except to assess that he sings well, but god, it’s  _ gorgeous  _ when he sings alone. 

Sokka doesn’t understand the words but Zuko sings them sadly-soft, nostalgia playing through the strings of his guitar. It reminds him of summer nights with his dads and Katara, a cool breeze cutting through the heat. It sounds like childhood in a grownup sense, and Sokka can’t quite articulate his feelings. 

Zuko finishes with a discordant strum and a self-conscious expression on his face, setting down the guitar. “There you go, Uncle.”

Iroh has his eyes closed, noodles forgotten in his lap. “That was lovely, Zuko, thank you.”

Zuko smiles. “Of course. I’m not feeling more singing, though. Are you up for something else?”

Iroh opens his eyes and smiles widely. Sokka gets the feeling he was waiting for this question. “Why, yes! I would  _ love  _ a game of Pai Sho tonight, if it’s not too much trouble for our guest.” He sends a look to Sokka that clearly says  _ if you want to continue to talk to Zuko tonight, you will play Pai Sho.  _

Sokka nods. “Where do you keep the board up here?”

“Excellent!” Iroh says. “Just above the monopoly box on the bookshelf. Zuko, you will stay for a game, won’t you?”

Zuko smiles indulgently at his uncle. “I should’ve known this was a trap,” he says. “Just don’t gang up on me.”

“We would never!” Iroh insists, then winks at Sokka. 

“Never,” Sokka echoes. Zuko smirks at him and his eyes glint gold in the warm light of his uncle’s living room. 

“Good game,” Zuko tells Sokka, stretching and offering a hand to help the other boy off the floor. “You put up a good fight.”

“I promised not to gang up on you,” Sokka complains, taking Zuko’s hand. His hands are warm and dry and Sokka doesn’t want to let go. He does, of course, but reluctantly. “It’s not fair for you guys to conspire against  _ me. _ ”

Iroh chuckles. “We didn’t have to, Sokka. You’re getting rusty.”

Truth be told, Sokka had been distracted by Zuko’s thinking face for most of the game- he bites his lip when he contemplates his next move and furrows his brow adorably- and hadn’t put much thought at all into his own moves. He thinks Uncle Iroh knows that, though, from the way he smiles. “Whatever,” Sokka sighs. He checks his phone. “Oh, I should get home. My little sister and her boyfriend are coming over tomorrow for a Mario Kart tournament and they like to make pancakes with me.”

“That sounds quite fun,” Iroh says, “Send Aang my hellos.”

“Will do,” Sokka says, saluting the older man and grabbing his coat from the couch. “Thanks for inviting me, Zuko!” he says, and Zuko grins at him.

“Do you have a ride home?”

“I’m just gonna take the bus,” Sokka says, He’s got a few quarters in his pocket and is pretty sure the eight bus comes until like, one in the morning. It’s only 11. 

“Let me walk you to the bus stop,” Zuko says earnestly. “It’s dark out, I wouldn’t want you to get run over.”

“It’s only a block away,” Sokka says slowly. 

“A twelfth of a mile to get murdered,” Iroh points out. He’s picked up his noodles against and eats a soggy bean sprout while nodding toward the door. “I’ll be fine on my own for a couple minutes. I do live alone most of the time.”

Sokka’s about to protest more- Zuko will have to walk  _ home  _ from the bus stop on his own and Sokka will have to walk home from the bus in his own neighborhood, which is in an even seedier neighborhood- but he decides that arguing against hanging out with Zuko more is sending the wrong message. “Sure, old man. Thanks, Zuko.”

“Literally no problem.” Zuko shrugs on his coat again and holds the front door open for Sokka. “I love being out at night, honestly. The air just smells better.”

Sokka doesn’t know about that but he quietly sniffs the air once the pair gets outside. It smells like dispersed car exhaust and the coolness of late evenings. Not bad- he can see where Zuko is coming from- but not something he’s ever noticed. 

They walk to the bus stop sign in companionable almost-silence, just Zuko humming a song Sokka thinks he played at his show earlier. There are dead leaves in the gutters that swirl figure eights around their legs and Sokka stomps on the ones that look especially crunchy. He jumps up to slap the minimalist bus painted on the sign and it clangs into the mostly-silence of the night. 

“Thanks for inviting me back to your uncle’s,” Sokka says. “This was nice.” he stuffs his hands into his jacket pockets because he doesn’t know what else to do with them. 

“Yeah,” Zuko says. His face is silhouetted harshly in the light from the streetlamp but even the stark shadows can’t make him look sinister. He smiles tentatively. “Thanks for coming back with me.”

There’s a moment of pause, and then Sokka says, “Would you want to do something sometime? Again, I mean?” He kicks at a dead leaf. “Like dinner?”

Zuko’s face breaks into a grin that he quickly stifles. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’m free whenever, honestly. Just text- oh, I’ll give you my number.” Sokka hands over his phone and Zuko types in his contact information. His nails are painted dark gray and the lacquer is on more smoothly than Sokka could ever manage. “Okay, there. Just text me whenever,” he says, and Sokka grins.

“Great! You’ll be hearing from me soon.”

“Okay,” Zuko says, bouncing a little on his heels. “Great. Yeah. Okay, I gotta go now.” He turns to go, then spins to look at Sokka again. “I- just so you know, I really go think you have a nice voice.”

“Suki,” Sokka says, falling backwards onto her queen-sized bed, “I think he’s the  _ one.” _

Suki lets out a fond huff of exasperation. “Sokka, you’re a dumbass.”

“Yeah but I’m  _ your  _ dumbass.” Sokka grins winningly and holds up his phone to text Zuko. 

**Author's Note:**

> \- i didn't dwell on it much in this fic but i love jet and mai and zuko being in a band together it would be..... so dysfunctional... the drama  
> \- also we stan uncle iroh he just wants what's best for his nephew and he is Not Afraid To Meddle  
> \- the song they sing is two coffins by against me! damn that song makes me feel things..... and no i'm not going to stop putting against me songs in my zukka fics. they are here to stay  
> \- you can find me on tumblr [@lazypigeon](https://lazypigeon.tumblr.com/).  
> \- comments and kudos make my day and also are directly related to how fast i can find the motivation to make more content!!


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